Dispatches From a Big Move
Returning to the Scene of the Joy
To remember how I manifested change
Nine years ago I lived on the east side of town in a low-income government subsidized housing project. I qualified to live there because at the time I was an unemployed stage-4 cancer patient. I lived there for one year.
Before moving into my apartment there I had spent a month in the hospital where a five pound tumor was surgically removed from my body. Once I was recovered from the surgery my doctor told me that the cancer had spread throughout my body and that I had six months to live. He also said that if I were to undergo about 80,000 dollars worth of chemotherapy that I might be able to live as long as twelve months. He then gave me five stapled pages that listed all the side effects of the chemotherapy, including loss of hair and finger and toe nails, constant nausea, constant diarrhea, constant vomiting, loss of the sense of taste, ringing in the ears, blurred vision, loss of teeth, recurring dizziness, and on and on and on…
I looked at the doctor and literally told him to go fuck himself. It was not his decision how long I lived. It was mine! Personally I feel that it should be against the law for any doctor or medical professional to tell anyone that they only have x amount of time left to live…
